cb.damnationgame-第10部分

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　　It　was　almost　pletely　dark　outside　and　in；　without　the　lawn　lights　on；　the　grounds　were　pitch。　But　Whitehead　still　sat；　facing　the　black　window；　watching。
　　〃It's　all　there；　of　course；〃　he　said。
　　〃What　is？〃　〃The　trees；　the　lawn。　When　dawn　es　tomorrow　they'll　be　waiting。〃　〃Yes；　of　course。〃　〃You　know；　as　a　child　I　thought　somebody　came　and　took　the　world　away　in　the　night　and　then　came　back　and　unrolled　it　all　again　the　following　morning。〃　He　stirred　in　his　seat；　his　hand　moved　to　his　head。　Impossible　to　see　what　he　was　doing。
　　〃The　things　we　believe　as　children：　they　never　leave　us；　do　they？　They're　just　waiting　for　time　to　roll　around；　and　us　to　start　believing　in　them　all　over　again。　It's　the　same　old　patch；　Bill。　You　know？　I　mean；　we　think　we　move　on；　we　get　stronger；　we　get　wiser；　but　all　the　time　we're　standing　on　the　same　patch。〃　He　sighed；　and　looked　around　at　Toy。　Light　from　the　hallway　fawned　through　the　door；　which　Toy　had　left　slightly　ajar。　By　it；　even　across　the　room；　Whitehead's　eyes　and　cheeks　glittered　with　tears。
　　〃You'd　better　put　on　the　light；　Bill；〃　he　said。　Yes。〃　〃And　bring　up　Strauss。〃　There　was　no　sign　of　his　distress　apparent　in　his　voice。　But　then　Joe　was　an　expert　at　disguising　his　feelings；　Toy　knew　that　of　old。　He　could　close　down　the　hoods　of　his　eyes　and　seal　up　his　mouth；　and　not　even　a　mindreader　could　work　out　what　he　was　thinking。　It　was　a　skill　he'd　used　to　devastating　effect　in　the　boardroom：　nobody　ever　knew　which　way　the　old　fox　would　jump。　He'd　learned　the　technique　playing　cards；　presumably。　That；　and　how　to　wait。
　　
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　　They　had　driven　through　the　electric　gates　of　Whitehead's　estate　and　into　another　world。　Lawns　laid　out　immaculately　on　either　side　of　the　sepia…graveled　driveway；　a　distant　aspect　of　woodland　off　to　the　right；　which　disappeared　behind　a　line　of　cypresses　as　they　bore　around　toward　the　house　itself。　It　was　late　afternoon　by　the　time　they　arrived；　but　the　mellowing　light　only　enhanced　the　charm　of　the　place；　its　formality　offset　by　a　rising　mist　that　blurred　the　scalpel　edge　of　grass　and　tree。
　　The　main　building　was　less　spectacular　than　Marty　had　anticipated；　just　a　large；　Georgian　country　house；　solid　but　plain；　with　modern　extensions　sprawling　away　from　the　main　structure。　They　drove　past　the　front　door；　with　its　white　pillared　porch；　to　a　side　entrance；　and　Toy　invited　him　through　into　the　kitchen。
　　〃Put　your　bags　down　and　help　yourself　to　some　coffee；〃　he　said。　〃I'm　just　going　up　to　see　the　boss　man。　Make　yourself　fortable。〃　Alone　for　the　first　time　since　leaving　Wandsworth　Marty　felt　unfortable。　The　door　was　open　at　his　back；　there　were　no　locks　on　the　windows；　no　officers　patrolling　the　corridors　beyond　the　kitchen。　It　was　paradoxical；　but　he　felt　unprotected；　almost　vulnerable。　After　a　few　minutes　he　got　up　from　the　table；　switched　on　the　fluorescent　light　（night　was　falling　quickly；　and　there　were　no　automatic　switches　here）　and　poured　himself　a　mug　of　black　coffee　from　the　percolator。　It　was　heavy　and　slightly　bitter；　brewed　and　rebrewed　he　guessed；　not　like　the　insipid　stuff　he　was　used　to。
　　It　was　twenty…five　minutes　before　Toy　came　back　in；　apologized　for　the　delay；　and　told　him　that　Mr。　Whitehead　would　see　him　now。
　　〃Leave　your　bags；〃　he　said。　〃Luther　will　see　to　them。〃　Toy　led　the　way　from　the　kitchen；　which　was　part　of　the　extension；　into　the　main　house。　The　corridors　were　gloomy；　but　everywhere　Marty's　eye　was　amazed。　The　building　was　a　museum。　Paintings　covered　the　walls　from　floor　to　ceiling；　on　the　tables　and　shelves　were　vases　and　ceramic　figurines　whose　enamels　gleamed。　There　was　no　time　to　linger；　however。　They　wove　through　the　maze　of　halls；　Marty's　sense　of　direction　more　confounded　with　every　turn；　until　they　reached　the　study。　Toy　knocked；　opened　the　door；　and　ushered　Marty　in。
　　With　little　but　a　badly　remembered　photograph　of　Whitehead　to　build　upon；　Marty's　portrait　of　his　new　employer　had　been　chiefly　invention…and　totally　wrong。　Where　he'd　imagined　frailty；　he　found　robustness。　Where　he'd　expected　the　eccentricity　of　a　recluse　he　found　a　furrowed；　subtle　face　that　scanned　him；　even　as　he　entered　the　study；　with　efficiency　and　humor。
　　〃Mr。　Strauss；〃　said　Whitehead；　〃wele。〃　Behind　Whitehead；　the　curtains　were　still　open；　and　through　the　window　the　floodlights　suddenly　came　on；　illuminating　the　piercing　green　of　the　lawns　for　a　good　two　hundred　yards。　It　was　like　a　conjurer's　trick；　the　sudden　appearance　of　this　sward；　but　Whitehead　ignored　it。　He　walked　toward　Marty。　Though　he　was　a　large　man；　and　much　of　his　bulk　had　turned　to　fat；　the　weight　sat　on　his　frame　quite　easily。　There　was　no　sense　of　awkwardness。　The　grace　of　his　gait；　the　almost　oiled　smoothness　of　his　arm　as　he　extended　it　to　Marty；　the　suppleness　of　the　proffered　fingers；　all　suggested　a　man　at　peace　with　his　physique。
　　They　shook　hands。　Either　Marty　was　hot；　or　the　other　man　cold：　Marty　immediately　took　the　error　to　be　his。　A　man　like　Whitehead　was　surely　never　too　hot　or　too　cold；　he　controlled　his　temperature　with　the　same　ease　he　controlled　his　finances。　Hadn't　Toy　dropped　into　their　few　exchanges　in　the　car　the　fact　that　Whitehead　had　never　been　seriously　ill　in　his　life？　Now　Marty　was　face…to…face　with　the　paragon　he　could　believe　it。　Not　a　whisper　of　flatulence　would　dare　this　man's　bowels。
　　〃I'm　Joseph　Whitehead；〃　he　said。　〃Wele　to　the　Sanctuary。〃　〃Thank　you。〃　〃You'll　have　a　drink？　Celebrate。〃　〃Yes；　please。〃　〃What　will　it　be？〃　Marty's　mind　suddenly　went　blank；　and　he　found　himself　gaping　like　a　stranded　fish。　It　was　Toy；　God　save　him；　who　suggested：　〃Scotch？〃　〃That'd　be　fine。〃　〃The　usual　for　me；〃　said　Whitehead。　〃e　and　sit　down；　Mr。　Strauss。〃　They　sat。　The　chairs　were　fortable；　not　antiques；　like　the　tables　in　the　corridors；　but　functional；　modern　pieces。　The　entire　room　shared　this　style：　it　was　a　working　environment；　not　a　museum。　The　few　pictures　on　the　dark　blue　walls　looked；　to　Marty's　uneducated　eye；　as　recent　as　the　furniture　they　were　large　and　slapdash。　The　most　prominently　placed；　and　the　most　representational；　was　signed　Matisse；　and　pictured　a　bilious　pink　Woman　sprawled　on　a　bilious　yellow　chaise　tongue。
　　〃Your　whisky。〃　Marty　accepted　the　glass　Toy　was　offering。
　　〃We　had　Luther　buy　you　a　selection　of　new　clothes；　they're　up　in　your　room；〃　Whitehead　was　telling　Marty。　〃Just　a　couple　of　suits；　shirts　and　so　on；　to　start　with。　Later　on；　we'll　maybe　send　you　out　shopping　for　yourself。〃　He　drained　his　glass　of　neat　vodka　before　continuing。　〃Do　they　still　issue　suits　to　prisoners；　or　did　they　discontinue　that？　Smacks　of　the　poorhouse；　I　suppose。　Wouldn't　be　too　tactful　in　these　enlightened　times。　People　might　begin　to　think　you　were　criminals　by　necessity…〃　Marty　wasn't　at　all　sure　about　this　line　of　chat：　was　Whitehead　making　fun　of　him？　The　monologue　went　on；　its　tenor　quite　friendly；　while　Marty　tried　to　sort　out　irony　from　straightforward　opinion。　It　was　difficult。　He　was　reminded；　in　the　space　of　a　few　minutes　listening　to　Whitehead　talk；　of　how　much　subtler　things　were　on　the　outside。　By　parison　with　this　man's　shifting；　richly　inflected　talk　the　cleverest　conversationalist　in　Wandsworth　was　an　amateur。　Toy　slipped　a　second　large　whisky　into　Marty's　hand；　but　he　scarcely　noticed。　Whitehead's　voice　was　hypnotic；　and　strangely　soothing。
　　〃Toy　has　explained　your　duties　to　you；　has　he？〃　〃Yes；　I　think　so。〃　〃I　want　you　to　make　this　house　your　home；　Strauss。　Bee　familiar　with　it。　There　are　one　or　two　places　that　will　be　out…of…bounds　to　you；　Toy　will　tell　you　where。　Please　observe　those　constraints。　The　rest　of　the　place　is　at　your　disposal。〃　Marty　nodded；　and　downed　his　whisky；　it　ran　down　his　gullet　like　quicksilver。
　　〃Tomorrow　。　。　。〃　Whitehead　stood　up；　the　thought　unfinished；　and　returned　to　the　window。　The　grass　shone　as　though　freshly　painted。
　　〃。　。　。　we'll　take　a　walk　around　the　place；　you　and　I。〃　〃Fine。〃　〃See　what's　to　be　seen。　Introduce　you　to　Bella；　and　the　others。〃　There　was　more　staff？　Toy　hadn't　mentioned　them；　but　inevitably　there　would　be　others　here：　guards；　cooks；　gardeners。　The　place　probably　swarmed　with　functionaries。
　　〃e　talk　to　me　tomorrow；　eh？〃　Marty　drained　the　rest　of　his　scotch　and　Toy　gestured　that　he　should　stand　up。　Whitehead　seemed　suddenly　to　have　lost　interest　in　them　both。　His　assessment　was　over；　at　least　for　today；　his　thoughts　were　already　elsewhere；　his　stare　directed　out　of　the　window　at　the　gleaming　lawn。
　　〃Yes；　sir。　Tomorrow。〃　〃But　before　you　e…〃　Whitehead　said；　glancing　around　at　Marty。
　　〃Yes；　sir。〃　〃Shave　off　your　mustache。　Anybody　would　think　you'd　got　something　to　hide。〃
　　
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　　Toy　gave　Marty　a　perfunctory　tour　of　the　house　before　taking　him　upstairs；　promising　a　more　thorough　walkabout　when　time　wasn't　so　pressing。　Then　he　delivered　Marty　to　a　long；　airy　room　on　the　top　story；　and　at　the　side　of　the　house。
　　〃This　is　yours；〃　he　said。　Luther　had　left　the　suitcase　and　the　plastic　bag　on　the　bed；　their　tattiness　looked　out　of　place　in　the　sleek　utility　of　the　room。　It　had；　like　the　study；　contemporary　fittings。
　　〃It's　a　bit　bare　at　the　moment；〃　said　Toy。　〃So　do　whatever　you　want　with　it。　If　you've　got　photographs…〃　〃Not　real